


Terrible children

by RosadelValle



Series: Heart of darkness [11]
Category: Inglourious Basterds (2009)
Genre: All sorts of immoral and unethical stuff, Angst, Brain Damage, Daddy Issues, Dark Humor, Fix-It of Sorts, Hellstrom isn't nice, Landa isn't nice but he tries a little bit, Mention of Mental Illness, Minor Character Death, Post-Canon, Unhealthy Obsession, Violence, WWII, brain damaged Hellstrom is sad, but like not super graphic, dem good old nazis, mention of euthanasia, probably not a feel better fic, there will be many sensitive issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 22:55:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 4,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28733049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosadelValle/pseuds/RosadelValle
Summary: What prevented him from spiraling down to hell, was an interesting rumor that he had picked up at the local brewery: a newly arrived german immigrant told his fellow citizens that he had met the only survivor of the cinema attack, the infamous Dieter Hellstrom. Landa, who distinctly remembered seeing his comrade’s corpse, didn’t believe the man until he specified that Hellstrom was wasting away in a clinic with his brain all fucked up.Landa contemplated the desert that had become his life and decided that, maybe, it was time to waltz back to Europe for a small journey.It should have been medically impossible but there he was, trying to play some notes he had found somewhere in his devastated brain on an invisible piano.Maybe he wouldn’t have to suffocate Dieter with his own pillow, after all. The man didn’t look as bad as he thought he would: wheelchair-bound and stick thin, yes, but not a catatonic and drooling mess. Landa would have sworn he saw a glint of recognition in those green eyes.
Series: Heart of darkness [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1357984
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	1. A regular nobody

_Massachusetts, 1950_

The first two or three years after the war hadn’t been bad. With his scar artfully worsened to make it look like the disfiguring consequence of a common accident, Landa was finally able to bask in the relative anonymity of the american province. He had approached the project of a new life with the combination of eagerness and pragmatism that had alwyas been his main characteristic: managing his money, cultivating a few useful relationships in the local German community and fucking his busty and undemanding neighbour.

Depression started to creep in on his fourth winter as an american citizen. One day Landa looked at the ceiling and asked himself: _did i really fuck my country for this? Was it really worth it?_ The eerie morning light answered him that no, it wasn’t.   
He was expecting something different, something less… pathetic. The truth was that he missed the power, the dynamism and the position of his old life. He missed the war. Rationally, he knew that what would have waited for him in Europe was likely the rope, but he still couldn’t help but wonder if he could have chosen a better exit strategy. Spain. Portugal, maybe. Brazil? Literally any other place where he could have at least had a chance at regaining a bit of power, something like a career. The american government treated him like a stabilized tumor: they checked on him regularly but left him otherwise alone. The former Standartenführer had become a regular nobody.

What prevented him from spiraling down to hell, was an interesting rumor that he had picked up at the local brewery: a newly arrived german immigrant told his fellow citizens that he had met the only survivor of the cinema attack, the infamous Dieter Hellstrom. Landa, who distinctly remembered seeing his comrade’s corpse, didn’t believe the man until he specified that Hellstrom was wasting away in a clinic with his brain all fucked up. Landa always had a soft spot for his younger colleague, for whom he felt a resemblance of fatherly feeling, because he reminded him of himself. They shared more or less the same background and neurosis, both of them had been cruel children who grew up to love power a little too much. Hellstrom was the only person in France that didn’t fear or hate him. 

Landa contemplated the desert that had become his life and decided that, maybe, it was time to waltz back to Europe for a small journey.


	2. A Romantic background

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I suspect that you didn’t enjoy this evening’s party.”
> 
> “Too many whores.”
> 
> “Ah, well… There’s nothing wrong with whores at parties Dieter, they’re like cigars: you can do without but most male guests wouldn’t be happy. And we’re in Paris, after all.”

_Paris, 1944_

  
  


Like many young german officers with a Romantic background, Dieter too was an avid albeit average pianist: he couldn't help but try every piano he passed by. Landa didn’t mind it though, being a music enthusiast himself. Except that in that particular moment Dieter’s usual elegant technique had become a sloppy and aggressive hammering. 

_“I suspect that you didn’t enjoy this evening’s party.”_

_“Too many whores.”_

_“Ah, well… There’s nothing wrong with whores at parties Dieter, they’re like cigars: you can do without but most male guests wouldn’t be happy. And we’re in Paris, after all.”_

The hammering faded into a sweet pianissimo, and then the lullaby faded into nothing. The quiet murmuring of the rain filled the room. 

_Whores were everywhere, under the republic. It was very funny for me at first because I was young and always horny. My friends were horny, even the fathers that hadn’t died at war were horny. There was a brothel in my building too, a couple of floors above us. It wasn’t really a brothel though, just three women that lived there and a lot of men that kept coming and going. As i told you, it was funny at first: my friends and I would sit on the stairs and whistle at the girls, it made our parents laugh. But whores come with troubles… Some clients started harassing our sisters and mothers. Spat on the ground, drank in the hall. The building started looking… sordid. I didn’t really like the idea of living in a seedy looking place. Worst of all, the oldest girl had made it a habit to sit next to the front door to lure men in. The other two were nice enough but this one… she had a brutal face, a vulgar face. Everyday i had to look at her ugly mug when i came back from school. We couldn’t do anything, the police were useless back then. So, one fine day, i took a couple of friends and broke into their apartment. Made a little mess. I think i may have even pissed on the bed. The whores were mad but there was nothing they could do and our parents were not going to punish us for it. So they left._

The pianissimo started again. Landa contemplated the rainy rooftops of Paris outside his window for a while, thinking about the infinite oddities of life.

_That’s a charming memory, Dieter. You know what? Something very similar happened to me. I was older than you and she wasn’t really a whore, not a professional one at least. She was what people would call a homewrecker. She fucked my father too. I didn’t really like the idea of my mother crying so, one fine day, i took a couple of friends and broke into her apartment. Made a little mess. I think i may have even pissed on the bed. The police weren’t so useless but i guess that i was more convincing. You know how persuasive i can be. So she left._

Dieter’s little laugh echoed in the room but he didn’t stop playing.

_Great minds think alike, don’t they?_

Landa agreed and sank back into the couch, smoking happily while Mozart’s music filled the air. 


	3. Erika

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It should have been medically impossible but there he was, trying to play some notes he had found somewhere in his devastated brain on an invisible piano.

Head Nurses don’t usually treat patients personally but, since none of the girls could or wanted to handle him properly, Erika had to make an exception for Dieter Hellstrom. The girls had fought like harpies to grab him when his mother dumped him at the clinic because he still looked pretty and mostly normal despite the loss of weight and muscle tone, but started to avoid him as time went on. It was a really perplexing and weird phenomenon: nurses wouldn’t last more than a couple of weeks because they got extremely nervous and the patient stopped eating and became distressed in turn. Even the doctor, so curious and energetic during the first visits, subtly tried to keep away from Dieter.

Erika thought that the problem was that Hellstrom seemed to be a lot more self aware than he should have, with the damage caused by the stabbing and the blood loss they expected him to be catatonic but he wasn’t. The knife in his head had indeed erased his motor skills, ability to talk and likely most of his memories and God knows what else, but it still felt like he was somehow still there. Many of her patients smiled, frowned and tried to vocalize and she knew that it didn’t mean anything, but Dieter always locked eyes with her when she bathed him or combed his hair and Erika was irrationally convinced that he was doing it on purpose. Whether it was playful or malicious, she couldn’t tell. Knowing who he had been, it was probably the latter. 

_ I couldn’t blame you if you gave up, Erika. I understand that as the Head Nurse you can’t afford to treat a difficult patient personally. I don’t… i don’t think he’s going to improve anyway. It’s not something I would usually consider but I can… try and see if I can find a better accomodation for him.  _

One day she had left Dieter alone in front of a window because she had to do something, she couldn’t remember what, and when she came back he was crying. Not mechanically as it’s expected from a patient with brain damage, he was crying for real. He was trying to flex his fingers and sobbing helplessly. It should have been medically impossible but there he was, trying to play some notes he had found somewhere in his devastated brain on an invisible piano.

_ No. No… i can manage for now, Doctor. _


	4. Erika II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So...those men were very angry with you. They said that you deserve to be hanged. That you interrogated the prisoners. That you were the best. That you are a monster.

Two policemen and a third man, introduced as a ‘specialist’, came one day to question Dieter about the crimes he had supposedly committed during the war. Erika had never seen someone with such a determined and serious attitude, what those men wanted was crystal clear: Dieter’s head on a silver platter. And not metaphorically speaking. Unfortunately for them, their target was too far gone to even be questioned, let alone tried or executed.  The interrogation took place anyway but was a solemn waste of time: Dieter was coming down with a cold and thus even less cooperating than usual.  The doctor told them that it was to be expected but Erika suspected that her patient may have ignored the cops on purpose, to some extent at least: while it was true that he couldn’t talk anymore and had probably lost his grasp on spoken language for the most part, she had seen him react to pictures and images before.  And he had, indeed, reacted to a couple of the many pictures that had been shown to him. Erika had the distinct impression that Dieter had tried to keep his reactions in check: flexing slightly his left leg (the only one he had a little control of) instead of his hands. No one had noticed.  The first picture was his own, his old Gestapo badge. The other one was the portrait of an older officer, a certain Hans Landa.

The policemen and their mysterious companion didn’t leave until late in the evening, after having tried anything that was humanly possible to obtain information from Dieter. Uselessly.  Erika didn’t usually work the nightshift but Dieter needed to be bathed and put to bed, so she had to stay. The clinic at night was a very quiet place: with most of its patients being severely incacapitated due to brain issues and generally stable, there weren’t many emergencies and the staff operated at reduced capacity. Alone with Dieter in his semi dark room, for the first time she felt upset in his presence. He locked eyes with her like he did everytime she combed his hair in front of the mirror. 

_ So...those men were very angry with you. They said that you deserve to be hanged. That you interrogated the prisoners. That you were the best. That you are a monster.  _

Erika’s heart was beating so fast that she thought she would faint. 

_ I don’t care. I don’t hate you. I mean… if what they said it’s true, you’re really a monster, it’s just that I don't care. My life is shit. My husband died and I'm alone with the kids. I wouldn’t have had them if I had known. Having children isn’t so great, my mother had warned me. She’s horrible but i have to give her that, she’s always been honest. But my husband wanted kids so now I have three. And none of them is too bright. But you know what? You were probably very bright and now they want to hang you.  _

Dieter seemed to be looking at her a bit more intently, now. Maybe he noticed the shift in her tone of voice. 

_ You’ve sent a lot of good men to their death and now I have to bathe and cuddle you like a baby. It makes me feel almost dizzy. Sometimes I wish you could talk . _

Dieter giggled, a little sound that made her blood run cold. Still, she kept brushing his hair.


	5. Twice for yes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe he wouldn’t have to suffocate Dieter with his own pillow, after all. The man didn’t look as bad as he thought he would: wheelchair-bound and stick thin, yes, but not a catatonic and drooling mess. Landa would have sworn he saw a glint of recognition in those green eyes.

_ ‘Did you know him well? Were you...friends?’ _

_ ‘I like to think that we were good colleagues, ma’am.’ _

_ ‘Oh, do you know if he played the piano?’ _

_ ‘He did.’ _

_ ‘Well?’ _

_ ‘Well enough, ma’am.’ _

_ ‘Oh, i see. I’ll let you in a minute. Wait here, please’. _

Finally free from the bovine looking nurse and her stupid questions, Landa took a look around him for the first time: the visiting room had been tastefully decorated and the staff kept it immaculately clean to give the visitors the impression to meet the patients in a hotel hall and not in a hospital. It was unbearably depressing and Landa wondered if someone like Dieter, who had been a fervent nationalsocialist with strong opinions about worthy and unworthy lives, wouldn’t have preferred to just die than live like that. What was the etiquette in such cases? Did he have to strangle his old colleague? What was the right thing to do?

_ Sir, here he is! Dieter, you have a visit! Should I leave you alone? I’ll be there, if you need me.  _

Maybe he wouldn’t have to suffocate Dieter with his own pillow, after all. The man didn’t look as bad as he thought he would: wheelchair-bound and stick thin, yes, but not a catatonic and drooling mess. Landa would have sworn he saw a glint of recognition in those green eyes.

_ So, Dieter… that grating nurse if yours has assured me that you can’t understand what we say but i know for a fact that you’re not entirely to be trusted. I’m going to take your hand now, yes? If you understand what i’m saying, squeeze mine twice. Twice means yes, all right? _

Dieter’s bony hand looked incredibly fragile in his, which made Landa feel slightly uncomfortable.

_ Can you understand me? _

Dieter flexed his index finger twice, slightly but unmistakably. 

_ Wonderful! Now tell me: did the police come looking for you? _

Another yes.

_ Did they ask about me too? _

Yes again. 

_ I’m not surprised. I was expecting it. Truth to be told, this is one of the reasons I came here for. I have made some decisions about our future and I'm sorry to inform you that you don’t have a say in it. You see, I've been hiding in America for a while… hiding isn’t maybe the right term... but it’s time for a change of scenery. I left for personal reasons, partly, but mostly because I had a strong suspicion that the government was actively planning my demise. They’re after us, Dieter. They can’t hang you, but they can and will make you pay in some other way. Do you understand what i’m trying to say? _

Yes. 

_ What I'm going to do now is relocating to a friendlier place, with a new name and new identity. I need you to come with me. I need you because you’ll make me look harmless. What could be more heartwarming than a father who wants to take his disabled son to a sunny place? I saved some money and, where we are going, there are people who… appreciate my expertise. It won’t be worse than it’s here. And I'm a better conversationalist than your nurse anyway. You with me? _

Yes.

_ Good. I have a last question, but it’s not important this time. Can you… smile? It would help, if you could.  _

Dieter showed his teeth in an eerie grimace.

_ We’ll work on that. _


	6. A kiss and a slap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A harsh shrieking startled her out of her reverie. It was Dieter, he was hissing rabidly at her. And he was looking at her directly, with hatred. He would have killed her, if he could.

There were two kinds of relatives: those who dropped off patients at the clinic and then disappeared, and those who spent the days there childishly hoping that their presence would improve their loved one’s conditions. Erika much preferred the former, as morally reprehensible as they were. The others did nothing but get in the way, pestering the nurses and the doctors with unwanted advice and suggestions. One of the most annoying habits of the Families Committee was to organise ‘open events’ that filled the place with music and elegant people whose presence the vast majority of the patient’s couldn’t even acknowledge. While she usually deserted such events, she had decided to make an exception for the Christmas concert, given how much Dieter seemed to appreciate music. A greatly regretted decision. Despite the wheelchair and the thinness, Dieter’s impossible pallor against the black of the coat still had the power to attract women’s gazes.They hovered around, glancing at him and smiling behind her back. Erika even had to stop an especially bold lady from feeding him chocolate. In their eyes, she must have looked like a grim guardian who unjustly kept her patient from having a little fun.

And indeed, in her stiff uniform and sensible shoes she felt like one.

_‘Dieter, baby, it’s a bit stuffy in here, isn’t it? It’s bad for you. I’m taking you back to your room.’_

_‘No, you’re not. You’re not taking him anywhere.’_

Sister Franziska, the director’s right hand, was looking at her with her most menacing stern face.

_‘This man is not your baby, Erika, nor your doll. You would be terrified of him if he was healthy.’_

_‘I don’t understand.’_

_‘You understand very well. I’ve been watching you. Don’t cross the line Erika.’_

_‘Yes, sister.’_

  
  


Later that evening, while combing Dieter’s hair, Erika thought about the nun’s words. People had told her to not cross the line her whole life: when she was a child most toys were too expensive, when she was a girl most boys were too beautiful or too rich, as an adult the things she had to renounce to became too many to be listed. 

Dieter was dozing off in front of the mirror.

Not her baby. Not her doll. Another man she wouldn’t have been enough for. Another thing to give up.

Without really meaning to do it, Erika sat close to him and kissed his neck. 

_‘IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!’_

A harsh shrieking startled her out of her reverie. It was Dieter, he was hissing rabidly at her. And he was looking at her directly, with hatred. He would have killed her, if he could.

Erika ran away.


	7. Paris a nous!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘FUCK DANCERS!’

_ Paris, 1944 _

  
  
  


_ ‘’Talk to him, please.’ _

_ ‘Why?’ _

_ ‘Because he doesn’t do what i tell him to.’ _

_ ‘Make him. He’s just a prisoner, Hans.’ _

_ ‘He’s not just a prisoner, he’s that Opera dancer. I want to see him dance and he refuses. If i treated him like a normal prisoner, he wouldn’t be able to dance at all. As you can see, we’re at an impasse.’ _

_ ‘He realizes you can kill him?’ _

_ ‘He doesn’t care, he’s one of those rare types that don’t fear death.’ _

_ ‘And you want to see him dance?’ _

_ ‘Why not?’ _

_ ‘I’ll talk to him.’ _

  
  


When a prisoner was being especially uncooperative or couldn’t be scared into submission, Landa always sent for Hellstrom. And he never failed: Dieter sat in front of the prisoners with his babyface and his national socialistic zeal, and made them sing.  Hans and the other officers usually watched the interrogations unfold from behind the tinted glass, they all loved to see the magic happen.  Hellstrom's success was almost magical indeed, almost mysterious: he followed the standard procedure like everyone else, more or less, but with far better results.  Landa’s brutal empathy suggested to him that Dieter's slightly manic cheerfulness was the real key to his success: the prisoners sensed that he was there to play and it terrified them.  The brave dancer apparently wasn’t an exception.

  
  


_ ‘He agreed to dance, but only once.’ _

_ ‘That’s more than enough, I wasn't planning a tourneè.’ _

_ ‘He’ll dance a piece of his choice, with a female partner.’ _

_ ‘We have a deal.’ _

  
  


Arranging two rows of chairs and finding a phonograph and a prostitute who swore to be classically trained had been easy enough: their little theatre room was ready to host the subversive ballet star. That man could have been terribly bad at being a spy, but he sure knew how to dance: the exhibition was worth the effort. The man whirled and pirouetted on the dusty floor following the sappy music, lifting and leading his companion. The officers and the guards watched in silence, Hellstrom sat beside him with the solemn hair of a schoolboy at mass. 

And it suddenly just happened: the dancer stopped mid-step and charged headfirst into Dieter, slamming him into the ground with his cigarette and glass of champagne. Landa immediately shot him in the head.

  
  


_ ‘WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT? _

_ ‘Calm down, Dieter’. _

_ ‘I’M HURT, I CUT MYSELF!’ _

_ ‘It’s just a small cut, get up!’ _

_ ‘FUCK DANCERS!’ _

  
  


Landa didn’t really want to laugh but couldn’t stop himself. Everyone followed (except Dieter, of course).


	8. Never let me go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sister Franziska looked at her mildly and lit a cigarette instead of scolding her.

_ ‘ _ _ I don’t know what I was expecting.’ _

Sister Franziska looked at her mildly and lit a cigarette instead of scolding her.

_ ‘I became a nun later than usual, after graduating medicine, so I've had plenty of time to live as a… civilian. I was a rather imaginative girl… A dreamer, if you want. I used to spend hours sitting in a famous cafe in central Berlin: an elegant place whose main attraction was its heterogeneous client base, and I'm saying it to put it gently. But it was also very à la page, so you could see a couple of captains of industry sitting there with their charming wives too. I was obsessed with a particular waiter, a rather depressed russian émigré. We barely exchanged a couple of words but i thought about him all the time. I never spoke with anyone there actually, I just sat in front of my tea the entire afternoon spying on famous figures and waiting for something to happen. One day the place burned down and that was the end of it. If someone asked me ‘Franziska, what did you expect? What were you hoping for?’I wouldn’t have been able to answer. I didn’t have a definite purpose, a plan. I just thought that my life was dull and that I could absorb some of those people’s spark. I think that it’s the same thing that happened to you.’ _

There was something so abysmally pathetic in seeing the drama of her life being perfectly encapsulated in a nun’s corny adolescence’s memory, that Erika couldn’t help but cry. Not that it mattered: she had cried intermittently since Dieter had disappeared two weeks before. His mother had come to get him in the middle of the night and the doctors just let him go, even if that wasn’t the normal protocol. When Erika went to work the day after, all that was left of him was the soft brush she used for his thin hair. 

_ ‘He wouldn’t have talked to you. He wouldn’t have gotten better.’ _

Erika cried harder. 

Sister Franziska sighed. She hated theatrics but that’s how things were sometimes: people fell apart and the only way to help them was to be harsh. Erika wasn’t the only nurse that she had seen get unhealthily attached to a patient, quite the opposite: patients often became the child they never had, the lover they had been waiting for, the father they lost… It was sad, really. It never ended well and she made her best to put an end to such situations as soon as possible. Erika’s situation had bothered way more than usual, though. Erika was… not exactly smart and curiously childish. It was something that Sister Franziska had already seen in women like her, who came from simple parents that never talked with them and married simple men who didn’t know what to say, who were condemned to be children forever. 

Dieter Hellstrom was like an expensive puppet that she had found on the street: mildly damaged but inherently better than any of the toys she had at home. And like a child, she didn’t want to let it go.

When Dieter’s mother and the scarred men came to take him away, Sister Franziska breathed a sigh of relief : finally a problem that solved itself. 

It happened from time to time.

She would have to find a new pupper for Erika now, a harmless one this time. 


	9. Life is easy!

_ Somewhere in Southern Europe, 1958 _

  
  


Landa was reading aloud comfortably seated on the couch while Dieter listened attentively from his wheelchair. It was a nice evening ritual and the one Hans enjoyed the most: he stopped here and there to make a comment and Dieter would make one his little sounds to agree or disagree. He had never regained his ability to speak despite all the therapy and rehabilitation but, frankly, Landa didn’t consider it a problem: he liked to talk, not to listen. 

This serene atmosphere of intellectual entertainment was interrupted by a knock on the door. 

Sometimes life throws you unexpected surprises. Such surprises are usually nothing more than crap with a bow on it. That was exactly the case: the person waiting at the door was none other than the nurse that took care of Dieter in that god-forsaken clinic. Landa let her in. His plan was to interrogate her on how she had found them and then ‘dismiss’ her. It was a sensible and reasonable plan, and he was ready to carry it out. 

But he couldn’t.

Because Dieter started screaming as soon as he saw that chubby bitch walk in. Landa had never heard anyone screaming like that. It was a shrill, piercing and frenzied sound, something people only hear on a battlefield or in their nightmares. A sound that would have awakened the whole street. 

There was only a thing to do and Landa did it: he grabbed one of the golf clubs that he kept in the umbrella holder and hit the woman on the head with all his might. She dropped dead on the spot.

Dieter’s wailing turned into a heartbreaking but at least quiet sobbing. 

_ ‘Don’t cry, Dieter.’ _

The sobbing went on.

_ ‘She’s dead, as you can see. Tomorrow i’ll talk to Colonel X and we’ll get rid of her.’ _

The sobbing seemed to decrease a little bit.

_ ‘You want something to drink? A tea? Hot chocolate, maybe?’ _

No.

_ ‘What about wine?’ _

Yes.

_ ‘Good.’ _

Once again comfortably installed on the couch, Landa considered his surroundings: the fat woman lying dead on the Tree of Life Persian rug, the brain injured man chugging wine from a sippy cup, the book he had been reading still open on the coffee table… and compared it to his sterile existence in Massachusetts. 

_ ‘Cheer up Dieter, life could be a lot worse!’ _

Hellstrom let out an unintelligible but sarcastic sound.

_ ‘She won’t be bothering you anymore. Life is easy, Dieter. Tomorrow she’ll be gone and we’ll go to teather. Cheer up!’ _

Dieter showed his teeth in an eerie grimace.

_ ‘We’ll have to work more on that smile.’ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do yall want a final chapter from Hellstrom pov? LMK


End file.
